Nocturne of Shadows
by Dagorhir
Summary: Hadrian Potter had always known he was different. When the world becomes his playground, and rules set in a time long ago begin to change, the wrongs of the past are laid bare, and the lies are brought to light. About himself. About his family; truths will be unveiled, and alliances will be made. At the heart of it lies the heartbeat of life itself, and the forgotten song of magic.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note**

This is a retelling of Hadrian James Evans Potter's youth at Hogwarts; however, I am going to try to make things a bit different from the normal retelling, and for a variety of reasons. Those will come up at a later point. Several of my current reviewers have likely already noticed a difference in my chapters, with no Author's Note after the first chapter. However, should there be anything I need to say, it will be left at the very end of the chapter so no reader has to go through a block of text to get to the actual writing.

Also, as a starting note (because I already know people are going to ask) the Tom/Harry pairing exists for a reason. Yes, it will be a romance. No, it will not be up and early in the story due to the fact _Hadrian _is eleven years old in this story, but he will show up. Multiple times, at that. Also, the reasoning for the name _Hadrian _being used will be explained in the story.

**Story**

Hadrian Potter was everything the world anticipated, but more. He was nothing like what they thought he would grow to be. The world is his playground, and the rules set in a time long before are changing. Wrongs will be laid bare, and the past brought to light. Truths will be unveiled. Alliances will be made. A world reformed. At the heart of it lies the heartbeat of the world, and the forgotten song of magic itself.

**Disclaimer**

I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the books of the series. Therefore, I do not make any money off of this, and this fanfiction is written for enjoyment, and as a means to develop the skills every writer possesses. It is my hope everyone enjoys the story, and those who do read this are as inspired by the world the author created as much as I was.

Read, Enjoy, and _Review!_

000  
>00<br>0

For as long as she was able to recall, _normal _was the one thing little Hadrian would never claim as his. She learned not to question it.

Petunia, kneeling next to her sleeping nephew, felt the smallest of smiles ease onto her face as she brushed a few strands of inky black hair from his face. His scar was ever present, long and jagged as it cut across his face; seeing it alone made her heart fill with sorrow. Her fingers ghosted over the knotted, silvery scar, her nephew's skin, spotted with fading bruises, soft. Warm to the touch. It was like honeyed milk, pale and warm and containing an inner glow. The small boy turned into her touch, eyelids twitching in his sleep, and her gaze shifted from his sleeping features to the organized mess she found every night.

Beside him rested an array of books, some much too advanced for such a small child to understand, while others were of a gentler reading. Short stories, fairy tales, and children's books. Old sonnets and more advanced books, however, were often of history or psychology. Of the relations between people and the world around them, how they were connected. There were a few books on different fields of science _she _had never heard of mixed in.

It reminded her of her dear little sister so much it hurt. Little Hadrian James Evans Potter, his name scrawled into the back of the cupboard with black paint, the lettering smoother than most children his age, told her so much. He was, without doubt, Lily's child. Her sister's only son. Her sweet, little nephew. He was as much her son as Dudley was, and, as she caressed his cheek, she felt her eyes dampen.

So small. So young. So _fragile_.

Yet so incredibly sharp. So frighteningly intelligent.

Pale, strawberry blond hair curled around her face as she caressed her nephew's cheek. She watched as young Hadrian Evans stirred, his eyes opening with a slow steadiness of a tired child, half lidded, to reveal sleepy, electric green irises. Eyes the color of death, a green so intense, so bright, only _magic _was able to express the true radiance of what came after life. The color of death, Lily had described in a letter so long ago.

"Aunty," She smiled as Hadrian rolled onto his back, a sleepy smile easing the lines of worry on his face. She ran her hand through his thick, midnight black hair. The strands slid between her fingers, unruly and untamed as they fell to settle around him. The child rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand, sitting up to a yawn stifled behind a thin hand. His hair, falling just past his shoulders, waved around his face, blocking his eyes, as he stretched. "Is it time, aunty?"

"Yes." She scooted back, her nightgown sliding across the floor, as Hadrian crawled out after her. He stood, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, and grinned up at her. Bright green eyes so light, so warm. So small, this child. As small as a boy of eight or nine instead of one turning eleven. She watched as he closed the small cupboard door, locking it tight, and he turned to face her seconds after. His gaze found hers, and, as she knelt, bringing them eye-to-eye, his gaze did not waver. He smiled as she ran a hand down his arm, and took his hand in hers as she murmured, "Vernon left early this morning, and he won't be back for a week. We have the house to ourselves, darling. Just you and me."

"What about Dudley?"

"He's staying at a friends, and won't be back until the day before Vernon."

She saw his eyes light up. A happy ray of pleasure. Petunia felt his magic, so potent and thick, wash over her as he bounced in place, a small human being filled with unlimited energy. Green irises gazed into her, and she answered his unspoken question. "I left some clothing in the bathroom for you. Go wash and change. Then we'll head out for London. Go on, little bird."

She watched as he bounded down the hallway, and disappeared around the banister leading upstairs. As she made her way into the kitchen, she heard the shower kick on, and the house groaned. She absently gathered breakfast together, a small pile of sandwiches and a healthy helping of fruit and milk, and set out two for breakfast. She packaged the others, and paused, listening, as the shower quietened. In minutes, Hadrian was in the kitchen, a bright grin on his face, and his eyes gleaming behind black-framed glasses.

"That was quick." She handed him his breakfast, and watched as he devoured it in a handful of bites. Her eyebrow arched, and, sensing her attention, his gaze rose to meet hers. A sheepish smile answered her quirked brow, and he downed his milk in one go before washing the glassing and putting it away. His voice was light, airy, as he said, "We'll go to the bookstore, yes? And the park? And other shops?"

"We'll go wherever you wish, honey." She told him as she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. He passed her the keys, and Petunia locked the door behind them as they left the house. They made their way into London in peace, Hadrian humming a soft tune under his breath as he sketched out whatever resided in his mind. The soft whisper of a pencil on paper was soothing, and she relaxed, breathing calmly, content, for the first time in a month. "Should we go to the bookstore first? Or is there somewhere else you would like to visit before we head there?"

"The Museum, if possible." Hadrian's bright green eyes gleamed, a thoughtful look on his face as he gazed out the window. Petunia held her silence, knowing well enough he wasn't finished. She was proven correct when he continued, "There is history in art. It shows more than a book spells out. Words can be reshaped. The image distorted. Art is true emotion. The soul of an artist, be it a writer or a painter, is a doorway to one side of the truth."

"What of the other side of the truth?" She questioned him, a soft smile playing at her lips. Hadrian hummed under his breath, and answered, "It is but one more side to unveil. But what is truth? And what is lie?"

"Have I ever told you that think a bit _too _deeply?"

"Every day, aunty." His soft laugh echoed through the car, and the rest of the ride was filled with gentle conversation. What to bake for the week. What meals, and activities they could do with Vernon out of the house. They spoke of art, and of music and poetry. Of stories, and the unbridled passion for meaning when the world was shadowed and dark. It drew her from the darker thoughts lingering on the edge of her mind.

Vernon. Her husband. A man she once loved.

Hadrian had long since fallen into himself, and only the soft whispers of pencil on paper told her that he was awake. Her husband. The bane of her nephew's life. Of _her _life. The ring on her finger mocked her as she parked shy of an hour later, and her fingers clenched the steering wheel. Petunia brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear before climbing out of the car, and her nephew, sweet little Hadrian, was out and by her side in moments. His hand slipped into hers. So thin. So small. Her _husband's _doing.

_Weak. I am too weak to stop him. _She still felt a phantom pain in her wrist. She could still fell the crushing pressure, and the release as it broke under her skin. The man she married was gone. A man she had grown to know, a man who would come home to shower her in gifts and love...a love she doubted. Had it ever been true? Had he once loved her?

"Aunty?" She blinked, and her gaze shifted towards her nephew. Hadrian, gaze solemn, caught, and held, her attention. His fingers squeezed around hers as he said, "The pain is temporary, aunty. In time, it hurts less."

He was too young. Too small. Too thin. He was too young to have to endure such hardships. To endure such pain. To know what it was.

Petunia cursed as they entered the warmth of the museum, the vast gallery a beacon of light soothing in its presence.

She cursed Vernon for his abuse. For his complete disregard for hers, and Hadrian's, suffering.

Above all else, she cursed herself for the weakness she could not refute.

000  
>00<br>0

His first memory was of death.

He recalled a nursery, and a woman rocking him. Spinning across the room, holding him close, singing softly to him, and the soft, flowery fragment of her body as she cooed to him. The cradle was behind her, massive and much to large for one child, and he could recall a man, black hair and laughing hazel eyes, smiling down at him before vanishing out of some distant door. Then she was dancing with him, singing softly. He recalled some kind of sound, a noise loud enough to draw his attention from the woman he assumed was his mother, and a flash of green light under a closed door.

As he moved from one painting to the next, Hadrian Evans knew one truth. He knew death like a child knew its mother's love.

As he gaze at the newest picture, not fully processing what he was staring at, Hadrian's mind turned. Images, they played out like a movie on a giant screen and the sounds as fresh, and crisp, as if it had just happened. The door exploding, a man surrounded by shadow, the redheaded lady's voice frantic and more than a little desperate. Underneath it all, the soft song hummed, a backdrop of noise in his mind, and made the memory difficult to remember. All he could recall, fully, was a song without a melody.

It was an echo of the past, and, as they moved from the gallery, and drove to the bookstore, the first few words of the song haunted him.

_Sleep, child, sleep. Sleep in your mother's heart. _

At times, it came to him a dream. A soft verse, a song or lullaby. Upon wakening, the words were all that remained. In his dreams, he suspected he would find the melody, but, in the realm of the waking, it was lost. It was elusive, and quick to flee before he could grasp it between his ever-reaching fingers. A song his _mother _sang to him, so soft and haunting and filled with so many layers. His brow furrowed, and, as he dunked into the bookstore, pausing at the entrance to wait for his aunt, he tried to recall what little else in those memories he could.

A crib, two sizes to large. A nest of blankets, red and gold and silver. A backdrop of pictures, the images too blurry for him to care about. A wardrobe, and a massive amount of infant's clothing inside. Lots of toys. Then there were blocks in the room, on a bench built into the wall under a massive widow, some kind of seat the redheaded woman sat in and red to him, but the _blocks_. Sometimes he could make out letters. Four letters. Abel.

It was frustrating. As his fingers skimmed the spines of innumerable books, books on ways of the past, of Lords and Ladies and Kings and Queens, he could hear it. He could hear the song, regardless if he was awake or dreaming. It was a lullaby, dark and haunting, following him deep into furthest reaches of his mind. Sometimes he thought he could hear someone talking, and catch some of the words. No one was ever there.

Hadrian skimmed through the pages of a book, eying the castes and ranks of nobility listened within, and paused at the picture of a headsman with his ax held high. He stared, unable to look away. The man, hands bound behind his back, was at the headsman's feet, head covered in a black sack. As he lightly traced the picture with the tip of a single finger, words came, drifting, from the depths of his being.

_Let the wind blow and the rain fall, hear the executioner's call. Watch the traitor's head roll as the Shadow takes his soul. _

Death. It was a presence, a force, ever-constant. It came and went. A person died. Another was born. He snapped the book closed, and put it back in its rightful spot on the shelf, and hurried away. He moved to other books, from the structure of society and the hierarchy of pack animals, to a massive book on display about the world itself. He paused before it, his hand gently turning the pages until one caught his eye.

A cliff overlooking a vast body of water, the color of the purest, and coldest, hue of blue and green. An ocean. He ran a finger over one painted wave, imagining the scent of salt in the air and the soft lull of waves lapping the shore as the end of the lullaby drifted in the depths of his mind. An endless thing, something he could not escape from. The voice of a woman. The warmth of being held. And words, spoken low and hypnotic.

_Sleep, child, sleep. We shall never part. For we will soon be free, together, forever, in the cold, cold sea._

"Hadrian?" His gaze shifted to his aunt, and he felt the smallest of smiles ease across his face. She had several books in hand, among them a new sketchpad, and he felt the air around him, the atmosphere of the room, warm. He felt it lift, the darkness lightening, as his mood elated. She ran a hand through his hair, her eyes soft, warm, as she murmured, "Did you find anything that caught your fancy?"

He cocked his head to the side. There were several books that had caught his attention. "How many am I allowed?"

"Three. Any more, and Vernon will notice."

Hadrian nodded. He turned, and swept through the aisles. His aunt followed, and he picked out the books he had noticed earlier. 'The Lost Legends of Sadir' was the first, an old book, its author unlisted. The headsman was lost in those pages, buried deep, alongside all the castes of people in the world of old. The lords and ladies. Villagers. Priests and priestesses. Somewhere inside of him, something stirred. A good choice, this book. He ran a hand down the spine as he hunted down his second choice, 'Rapture and Rupture,' from a shelf. His aunt raised a brow, and he grinned. He made his way through the bookstore, looking for a third item, looking for _something_, when he sensed it.

A soft pulse. A hum of energy. He paused in the shadows of a shelf, and turned. Darkness.

After a hesitate moment, he followed the pull. It lead him into the back, to an old shelf, and his gaze sought out whatever called to him. He saw it within minutes, nestled at the heart of all the books. He set the two books he held aside, and carefully eased the massive tome from its place on the shelf. Its cover was deep gray, like ash, and the spine, outlined in overlapping and twisting knots of silver, fashioned in a very Celtic manner, was lettering in the same silver. He peered at it, eyes narrowing, but could not make out the words.

Petunia, coming upon him, gazed at the book. He turned, and offered the three books. "These are the ones I want, aunty."

She nodded, and took them with a smile. He released them with reluctance, and followed her to the front of the store. She and the shopkeeper spoke as the elderly man went through the books, and the shopkeeper paused, gaze glazed as he passed a hand on the unnamed book of grey and silver, before shaking his head. He rang up the books, passed them back, and bid them a good day. Petunia took the lead, and, hand-in-hand, they went from shop to shop. Some displayed antiques. Others showed furniture, cooking ware, and a few had rare plants in bright colors.

His aunt pointed out a variety of things to him. Different buildings. Places with food unique and different, and undoubtedly delicious. As they settled in a seat at a small cafe, Petunia, voice was soft, caught his attention as she said, "Your mother and I ate here when she was home for the summer. She loved the chocolate pie they serve here."

"She did?" His mother? Ate here? Hadrian grinned.

"Yes, she did." His aunt smiled at him, the evening sun turning her hair a burning red. "We'll split one between us. How does that sound?"

It sounded perfect. He didn't need words to express that thought. His aunt ordered, and they ate it. The pie was beyond perfect. It was silken. Smooth. Cool. It flowed through him, a blissful warmth filling him. It stayed as they drove home that evening, and, as the night wore on, and as he settled into his small room, spiders easing onto the mattress once he was comfortable, he found himself smiling.

One spider, larger than his both his hands combined, made itself comfortable on his knee as he placed his books in a shadowed corner, hidden from the door and unseen unless looking for it. He shooed the spiders to the side, and flopped onto his back. In moments, several of the eight-legged creatures were upon him. Their legs brushed against his skin, soft and ticklish. Others observed from the beams overhead, numerous eyes unblinking, and their bodies blended into the shadows of the ceiling.

As he began to drift into darkness, one massive spider burrowing into the pillow next to his cheek, something nudged at his mind. Something important.

His gaze shifted towards the grey-silver tome. His mind focused on the receipt. As he rested, burrowed in warmth, he realized what he had missed.

That one tome wasn't listed on the receipt despite being bought. The money, tucked safety in his aunt's wallet, remained untouched.

And that tome, of grey and silver, sat, nestled, unnamed, in the corner of his room. A mystery. An impossibility.


	2. Chapter 2

For many a year, Hadrian had grown accustomed to things never going _quite _the way he liked.

As he began his usual morning routine, long before the sun had crawled over the horizon to let the world know it was time to wake up, he found himself in the kitchen at the table eating a handful of fruit with a small glass of juice next to him. His aunt would not awaken for some time yet, and, for the time being, his mind was focused solely on his newest possessions. Three books. Two which had titles, but remained author-less, and a third with a title he couldn't decipher no matter how long he stared at it. It was that third book he was studying intently. As he glared at the pages bared before him, a sense of growing frustration built.

It was empty. He had flipped through every page, and there was well over a _thousand _of them, but not a single word was anywhere to be seen. It was baffling. More than a little confused, Hadrian found himself unable to do anything other than stare, blankly, at the book. The other two he had received also rested on the table, both open and patiently waiting, but the _third _book all but demanded his attention.

He had contemplated _writing _something in it himself, but a strong sense of _revulsion _rose in him. Hadrian realized it was better to not test the feeling. So it remained blank, much to his distress. His feet swayed under him, kicking to and fro. He was short for his age, he knew, and most children his age would be able to touch the floor when sitting. Their feet, anyway. While the seat was uncomfortable, the angle was just right.

He could see the two doors in the kitchen, one leading into the front room and the other to the backyard and the garden he tended on a daily basis. The thought of the greenery brought a smile to his face, and he leaned back in his seat. A few of the herbs in the garden should be ready to harvest, now that he thought about. Once again, his gaze strayed to the unnamed book. His lips pressed into a tight line, and, as he ran a hand through the unruly mass he called hair, he felt his frustration build.

Who would sell an _empty _book, and not even ring it up? Or _any _of the books?

_I recall Aunt Petunia handing the man the money for the books. I remember each being rung up..._but somehow, in some way he could not even begin to understand, each book in his possession, and those his aunt had bought, were in the same boat as the silver tome in front of him. He turned, and pulled the receipt to his side, dark eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he looked at the blank sheet of paper where _words _should be written. Like the grey-silver tome, it was blank. He wasn't even sure if he should bring this small matter to his aunt's attention or not. _Supplies bought, but no money spent. Vernon would never know she spent any money on us...well, in this case, he might call her a thief. Best not say anything at all._

His uncle was not a pleasant man when angered. Nor was Dudley, but the boy was raised under his _father's _hand instead of his mother's. Something about 'keeping the freaky business away from esteemed blood,' a phrase Hadrian was still trying to understand. When he asked his aunt about it, she merely ran a hand through his hair, a soft smile tugged at her lips, and told him not to worry about it. He was a good boy. A perfect son, and his mother would be proud of him. He still thought about what Vernon could possibly mean, when he said that, but he had a feeling he was being blamed for something he could not quite name.

He wasn't sure what "freaky business" was, or why his uncle directed _that _statement at him. He wasn't the one who hid a dead bird in the back of the pantry for a month. Dudley did some odd, and unusual things, but, at the time, his slightly older cousin was sure he could bring the bird back to life. Vernon had merely patted him on the head, and then proceeded to tell Hadrian, himself, to stop putting _freaky _thoughts in his son's head.

Adults could be so confusing.

"Hadrian?"

He turned in his seat to find his aunt in the doorway, dressed only in a nightgown and pale hair waving around her face. His aunt was pretty, he decided. Strawberry blond hair, pale green eyes, a minty color he thought to suit her well, and a long, slender neck. Her skin, while bearing signs of long years filled with pain and struggle, was soft and lightly tanned. His aunt _was _pretty. She was nothing like a 'horse' the neighbors whispered when they thought nobody was listening. Her neck wasn't _that _long. She had a figure like a noblewoman. If she dressed like some of the court ladies he had in his newest book, 'The Lost Legends of Sadir,' she would be rather regal looking. Anyone who said otherwise was blind.

"Hadrian, dear, are you okay?"

He blinked, and flushed. He hadn't been paying attention. Again. He offered a sheepish smile, and turned to 'The Lost Legends of Sadir,' flipping it to a page he had already marked. He gestured her over, and pointed at it as he said, "She looks a bit like you, aunty. Tall. Thin frame. Sharp features. She was a _noblewoman, _aunty. So when the ladies come over, and say you need to add a '_little extra_' to your wardrobe, you tell them about _this!"_

Petunia giggled, one hand hiding her mouth. She bent closer to the page, and, Hadrian, unable to keep his grin hidden, watched as she took in the picture. She cocked her head to the side, a thoughtful look on her face, and, after a moment, she stated, "I see you are right, honey. I'll see if I can get a ring or necklace like hers, and I'll shock the woman of Privet Drive by the sheer amount of noble radiance I possess."

She said it with such seriousness. Hadrian tried to keep his expression stern, but his lip quivered, and then he began giggling. Petunia hid her laughter behind her hand, and, after a moment, sat at the table with him. She pulled the black book to her, the corners encased in a deep red, and eyed the title before asking, "You _do _know rapture is, do you not?"

"An intense feeling of pleasure or joy," He replied as he flipped through his book, and his gaze shifted to her face. He tilted his head to the side, arm draped over the grey book, as a thoughtful frown settled over his feature. He was quiet for a moment before he added, "It is also said to be the event when believers of Christ are delivered to Heaven. Though I think you were referring to the _first _definition of the word, and not the second. Why do you ask?"

She blinked in return, and then smiled. "I wasn't aware you knew the second definition."

"Marge made me read the Bible to her for a week." He replied offhandedly, a frown marring his features. "When I messed up, she sicked Ripper on me. That's one book I'd rather not add to my collection. I don't want _anything _near me if it'll remind me of her and that beast. She gave it a suitable name, too."

"Don't worry about getting _that _as a gift." Petunia scooted his chair to her, and took his hair in hand. He stilled as she ran a brush through it, and nearly sighed when the tips scraped his scalp. His aunt continued, fingers weaving through his hair, "The Evans were never big on religion, Hadrian, not even when I was a child. We honored the old traditions, before any of the mainstream religions came about. Though, after marrying Vernon, keeping to those traditions became impossible."

"What sort of traditions?"

Petunia laughed, and she tugged on his hair. He turned, and eyed the end of the braid in her hand as she replied, "We would meditate, more often than not, and take long walks through the forests around our home. My grandfather had a large ranch, way out of the way, and we'd spend an entire day on horseback to get to our campsite. Just the family and nature."

Hadrian turned fully, eyes wide, as he asked, "You rode _horses _when you were a little girl?"

"Yep." She grinned, and bopped his nose. "Lily did too, though she rode with me. She was a bit uncomfortable on them, and tended to cling to my middle when we rode. Father would charge into the sunset on Nightscape, a massive stallion black as night, with grandfather next to him. Mother would stay with us and Grandmama, too."

His aunt rode horses. So did his mother. And his grandparents!

He saw horses in 'The Lost Legends of Sadir,' and how nobles often had the best of them. It was a brief reading, sure, but he had liked the pictures. As he leaned in, green eyes alive with light, he couldn't keep himself still as she leaned in. She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and, as she stroked his face, fingertips running along the scar running from brow to ear, he grinned. She returned the look as she murmured, "At night, we would lay in the grass under the stars, and mother would tell us tales of old wise woman and how they would read the sky, and tell people their future. How the plants were medicine, and how the earth's heartbeat was _our _heartbeat as well."

"And then my mother just...left?" Hadrian was slightly uncomfortable at that, but Petunia, sad smile in place, replied, "Yes, she eventually left. Your mother was special, despite her unease when it came to horses, and found a place for herself. She could do things no one else could do. I've never met someone who could do the things she did. Then she met your father, a man named James, and he was like her."

"Able to do things no one else could?" Petunia nodded, and stroked the spine of one of the books as she said, "Yes. He, too, could do what many people were unable to do. Things we could only _dream _of doing. Lily, your mother, met your father at a private school, someplace far away. It is where she met so many good people, and that school was filled with people just like her."

Hadrian frowned. His mother went, but Aunt Petunia didn't? Why could his mother do all the special things, but not his aunty too? He brought that up, and she smiled a sad little smile before she murmured, "I'm not special like Lily was, so I wasn't able to go. I wanted nothing more than to leave with her and never come back. It resented her for a long time, because of it."

"This was after grandmother and grandfather died?" Petunia nodded, smiling as Hadrian frowned. Well, this was all rather unfair. Lily, his mother, had been able to leave and find a place she belonged, but her sister, his aunty, was forced to stay behind? Scowling, he continued, "What about your mother and father? If mother was special, and went away, why did all of you not move closer?"

Petunia blinked. Hadrian wondered if she had never asked the question, herself, but then she said, "Well, father died shortly before Lily had to go to school, and mother was very sick. I got a job, in a local store, to help around, and Lily did all she could. The headmaster was unable to do _anything _to help, other than offer his deepest apologies."

She ran a hand down his side as she murmured a second after, "If I am correct, it is where _you _will also go. I am unsure as to sure why the Headmaster of her school, well Deputy Headmaster when she was in school, thought you would not go. However, I see the same things in _you _I saw in Lily. You may not do it the way _she _did, but I see it all the same."

"Is that why Uncle Vernon says I do freaky things?" He asked, and his aunt blinked. She almost seemed to go a bit pale, and absently rubbed her wrist she sat there. Hadrian sat, quietly, as she gathered her thoughts. It wasn't a subject she liked to talk about, he knew, but he felt it had to be brought up. If he was going to go to this school, a place filled with people who were different in some way, then he wanted to know a few things. After a moment, she exhaled, smiled, and then said, "When I married, your mother and father came to congratulate us on our marriage.

"Your father had brought a few of his friends with him, and, well, let us say a few things happened that should not have happened." Hadrian blinked at the answer, and then frowned as he asked, "What happened, exactly? That is a bit...unclear, aunty."

"Do you remember what happened when you were in your third year of schooling?" His head tilted to the side, a light frown making itself known. A lot of stuff happened when he was eight, and not a lot of it was good. He glanced at his aunt, voice soft as he asked, "Which event?"

"The fieldtrip."

He shuddered. That was a memory he'd rather not have. He had gotten separated from the class, and a strange man had taken him aside. Said a lot of odd things, and there were a few older kids, all crying. One moment, the man was stroking his face and telling him to be good, and the next...the neck moment, the overhead lights shattered, the air went cold, and then the man was screaming. One of the other children had held onto him as the man's screams turned into inhuman wails, and it continued until the police found them. Arms circling around his middle, Hadrian nodded his head to show he knew what event she was referring to, and Petenia circled an arm around his shoulders.

In his mind's eye, all he could see was the black, warping shadows and the blood-soaked ground. His aunt stroked his hair from his face as she said, "Like your mother, in times of danger, there is a..._force _which acts out to defend you. When Lily was seven, we were playing in a tree, and the branch under her snapped. She fell. It was high enough to be fatal, but before she hit the ground, she just...stopped. I remember sitting up there, staring and all wide eyed, as your mother cried in fright."

"Was it the same force that stopped her from falling that made that bad man..." He choked, and then she ran a hand over his back. He took a calming breath, eyes closed. He shoved the memory away from his mind, towards the small box in the back of his mind, and stuffed it inside. All bad memories went in there, and he would rather them _stay _in there. Exhaling, his eyes opened as she said, "What hurt him is a power existing within all the people like you and your parents. They call it _'accidental magic,' _which is when this...power you have comes out in your defense. You have no control over it, and it acts on its own."

"So why school, if there's no way to control it?" He questioned, and Petunia smiled before she answered, "Because that isn't the only thing you can do. You get feelings, sometimes, do you not?"

"They don't really mean anything, aunty." She laughed lightly in response, and said, "They mean everything, dear. I remember, when you were a baby, how you wailed all night long. Vernon was most upset about it, but, when I tended to you, you kept pointing at one of the gas heaters we use to have. Not even an hour later, the wall caught on fire."

He opened his mouth, but she cut in as she said, "Let us not forget about that one time you refused to get up for a trip your school was making. You insisted on saying, and every time I asked why, do you remember what you said?"

"I had a bad feeling."

She nodded. "Do you remember what happened that day?"

"There was a blackout in the town, and a family died." He remembered staring at the tv, at that point, and being determined he would never, ever, go on another trip if it was related to school. They always ended badly, though he was uncertain about why she was bringing it up. When she tapped his temple, he went cross-eyed to stare at her finger, and then frowned as she said, "Hadrian, dear, you _knew _it was going to happen. Not what was going to happen, but you knew something bad was on its way; instinct dictated you avoid it. Your mother did this, too."

"Is this why you think I'll go to this school despite the man saying I won't?" At her nod, Hadrian asked, "You'll come to, right?"

He didn't want to leave without his aunt. If he was gone, and Vernon came back, and his aunt was by herself...he didn't even _want _to think about the possible things that could happen. He turned towards her, legs brushing, sat his hands on his knees, and said, _"If_ I go, I want you to come to. We'll talk to whoever this Headmaster is, and we'll tell him that, if _I'm _to go, you, and Dudley, also have to come because Vernon isn't nice, and he won't be happy about me being somewhere he can't be."

His aunt blinked, and then she smiled. Hadrian felt his heart lift at the sight of it.

**~O\o/O\o/O~**

Alright, for those who are _rereading _this, you can see I have made a change to this chapter. Things were moving a bit too quickly forward, so I decided to shift things around a bit. As seen when Hadrian picked out the third book, he was 'drawn' to it, so I thought it best to mention a few other moments in his life which will later be brought up. The 'end' of this chapter, that was here previously, will be added into one of the next chapters. Before Hadrian heads off to school, I want everyone to get a sense of his life at home. There are a few minor changes in the last chapter, but nothing overly major. You can reread it, if you like, though it is not necessary.

So, until further ado, have a nice night!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Note**

Given my long absence, I thought it best to leave a short message here were all can see it. I have made changes to the previous chapter, so I would suggest going back and rereading the story. Given how long it has been since I have updated, it would be a good idea to refresh your memories on what has happened in the last two chapters. Also, as I have mentioned, I do have plans for this story. I intend to work only on one story at a time.

Why not work on ones far more along than this one? Because they all need some serious reconstruction, and I really don't feel like going through hundreds of pages to edit and fix it. So I thought it best to work on something fairly new (but already published) and work on _it _while I also work on the novel I am working on. It's roughly 60k (sixty-thousand, for those who don't know what that means) long, and about 150pgs long. It's quite a large piece of work, and about halfway finished. So I won't update every day. I'm aiming, for this site, about once a week. At the most.

Sorry for my absence, and for those worried: I'm not dead. Not yet, anyway. Enjoy what comes after!

000  
>00<br>0

Sensations. Feelings. A sense of knowing.

This new information settled into his mind like water seeping into a dry sponge. There were many such events, scattered throughout his life, but never, once, had he given it much thought. Why would he? Humans were complicated, and the human mind was the most complicated thing in existence. There were fields in science devoted entirely to it, to understanding how the human mind worked and what was possible if a small portion of it was unlocked that was currently unavailable.

Were these 'feelings' due to this? His mind shifted to the concept of accidental magic. If he was in danger, a force, which some might call magic, would act up in response, and defend him. Was it only when he, himself, was unable to defend himself? Was magic a part of the brain tapped into, a part on a small number of people could access? Vernon detested the subject of anything unusual or unnatural, and magic was included. Flying motorcycles, too, but Hadrian had a feeling if technology made it possible, his uncle would accept it readily.

"So what is the difference between science and magic?" Hadrian mused aloud. Dudley, watching some cartoon or another, looked up from his show. Hadrian blinked, and then offered a sheepish smile. His cousin was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "Magic isn't real, Hadri."

"Let's just pretend for a moment. If magic _was _real, then why is it different than science?" His cousin sighed, and turned off the television. Hadrian turned to him fully, knowing know was a good time to speak. Vernon was gone and would not return until late that night or tomorrow, and his cousin was in a good mood. Which was good. Dudley was frowning, though, and Hadrian wondered if, perhaps, he should have let the subject slide.

When he went to say something, his cousin said, "Well, science is created through intervention, and magic comes from someplace outside. Maybe scientists make things because it is as close as they can come to this thing people _call_ magic? People want to make things that do what we cannot do naturally, after all. Which is why technology, made through science, is important."

Being twelve, Dudley was an odd kid. He liked technology. He liked science. Which is why Hadrian wanted to use it as part of the conversation. He smiled, and then said, "If technology is science based off the thing we call magic, than what would magic be if not natural? Where would it come from?"

There was a brief flash of annoyance creeping into his cousin's eyes, and Hadrian sat upright. Now a good sign. Annoyance meant bruises, and bruises meant running, and running meant Harry Hunting. He didn't want to get hunted today. Staring his cousin in the eye, he quickly said, "Answer this one question, and I won't say anything more for the rest of the day. Deal?"

At his cousin's nod, Hadrian went quiet, and Dudley leaned back in thought. After a moment, he finally said, "Well, if technology is built through science, I would think it is modeled after a thought. Lightbulbs, for instance, were built to make light appear seemingly from nowhere. So magic, if it existed, would be able to make a light appear from nowhere, and humans who were unable to use magic would be jealous. The would want to show they could do the same thing. So they created a device, run on electricity, which would have the same effect."

His cousin paused, and Hadrian bit his lip to stop himself from asking a question. If it was modeled after a _thought, _then would magic occur through some form of visual imagination? Or would it be drawn from an outside source? As if sensing his internal questions, Dudley continued, "As to where this mythical magic comes from? Depends on legend, I'd say. Some people think it is a part of you, others think people can learn it and harness it regardless, and some thing it is a force of nature existing outside of our reach and only a few people can tap into it. Mindreaders and the like, while most of them are scammers and cheats, are everywhere, and plenty of people say they're accurate in their readings."

When Dudley stood, and made his way upstairs, Hadrian knew the conversation was over. Huffing, he made his way into the kitchen. What was he supposed to make of that? Vernon would return tomorrow, and then the quiet of the house would be gone. It was an odd thing, thinking Vernon would be home. Eyeing the fading marks on his arms, Hadrian sighed. Perhaps he should curl up in his cupboard, and read for a while. Maybe look at the pictures in his books. He still had to actually _read _'Rapture and Rupture,' and he was quiet curious as to what information it would contain.

There was also the third book, still as empty as the day they had gotten it. Sighing, Hadrian made his way for the small space he called his room, and, after shooing the spiders off his pallet, sat and leaned into the wooden wall. The overhead light flickered for a moment before turning on, and Hadrian, having gotten use to in his early childhood, paid it no mind. His gaze hovered on the book his mind obsessed with, but he paid it no heed as he picked up the red one instead, and flipped open the cover. Hopefully it was interesting, though he had a feeling some of the content in it might not be suitable for a child his age. With an inward sigh, he was able to admit, even to himself, it wouldn't be the first time he had read such books.

He had an odd way of getting his hands on them, and that was something he'd rather not think on.

000  
>00<br>0

Two days later, whatever his aunt was waiting for arrived. Over the last few days, she had been pacing. Antsy. Vernon noticed, though he spent most of his time yelling at Hadrian. It was something the younger boy did not appreciate, but he learned to keep quiet. It was his luck Dudley said nothing about their last conversation, though Hadrian knew he had to outwait the older boy for a time before relaxing. His cousin was quick-to-anger, and Hadrian knew the older boy would use it against him if it suited him.

Dudley could be vicious when he wanted to be. At the moment, however, both were content to sit and watch a documentary on wolves. They were interesting creatures, and even Dudley liked them. Dogs were loyal, and, as his cousin often liked to remind him, dogs were related to wolves. Hadrian was uncertain on why that mattered, given a wolf and a dog, while having many similarities, were also quiet different. One was tamed, the other wild. Both were loyal, yes. Wolves, however, were something else. They had a pack, and the alpha was the leader. They had a structure, and betrayal was something no wolf would overlook. Dogs were different. They were domesticated.

Hadrian paused, head quirked to the side. A slight sound. He listened to the sound, and it took a moment for him to determine it was the mail coming through the slot in the hallway. He got up, and, after dusting off his pants, he left the front room, keeping quiet as he walked towards the front door, and paused. He gazed at the stairwell, at the shadows of the upstairs, and frowned.

His aunt was asleep.

She had woken with a feeling of illness, and had retired to bed soon after waking. Hadrian had merely bid her a good rest, and cleaned the house before setting down at the couch. Now, standing in front of the door, a thick letter resting, face down, on the floor at his feet, he wondered who would send mail on the weekend. Outside, he saw a shadow, and, as he knelt down, another letter darted through the slot, and he leapt away from the door with wide eyes.

A low hoot came from the other side. Hadrian stared at the door, listening to the sound of something pecking the bottom of the door, and, as he picked up the first two letters, a frown made its way onto his face. He was uncertain if he was hearing what he was hearing, but, when another hoot came, louder than the first time, he blinked. Was an...owl knocking on the door?

He opened the door, and, sure enough, there rested a fat owl. It looked rather cross, its feathers ruffled. Hadrian stared at it, and it returned the stare until he stepped to the side, and awkwardly invited it inside. "Afternoon. Uh, would you...do you? Come inside, Mr. Owl..."

It hopped inside, and Hadrian closed the door behind it as someone began coming downstairs. Petunia, wrapped in a housecoat, paused as she eyed the bird from the steps, and then at the two letters in his hand then the ones resting by his feet. He picked those up, and turned his attention to the other two. Both of them were addressed to Vernon. His nose scrunched up as he tossed those onto the table against the wall. He eyed the remaining letters, and turned his gaze on the owl. After a moment, knelt and offered his arm.

The bird hopped on without complaint as Petunia said, "As I thought. It would seem you _are _going to the same school your mother attended."

They made their way into the front room, Petunia heading into the kitchen, and Hadrian sat on the couch. Dudley looked over at him, and then back at the show before his head snapped back around. His cousin stared, mouth slightly open, as the owl hooted. The bird hopped to Hadrian's lap, and nestled close as he carefully turned to the three letters in its grasp. His aunt returned with some sausage, and began feeding the bird the meat as he opened the letter.

He paused, baffled, by the heaviness of the parchment, and his eyebrows arched as he eyed the letter within. Dudley was shushed by Petunia, and, with some careful nudging form his aunt, Hadrian read aloud:

_"Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry;_

_"Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, and International Confederacy of Wizards...)"_

Hadrian paused, a scowl on his face, and looked at his aunt as he said, "I _refuse _to call anyone by all of that."

She raised one strawberry blond eyebrow, and, after a moment, he continued,

_"Dear Mr. Hadrian Evans-Potter, _

_Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, would like to congratulate you on your acceptance into our midst, and are pleased to say you have a spot within this esteemed academy of magic. Enclosed is a letter of all needed materials, books and equipment. Enclosed is an additional letter to your current guardian, one Miss Petunia Evans-Dursley._

_Terms begin September 1st, and we await your owl no later than the 31st of July._

_Yours,_

_Minerva McGonagall."_

Hadrian eyed the letter, turned his gaze on his aunt, and asked, "This _is_ a joke, right?"

Dudley echoed the question, mouth slack. Hadrian passed him the letter, and his cousin read it over himself. Aloud. Then he read it again, before gesturing to the other letter addressed to him. Hadrian opened that one, gaze roaming over the list of supplies, and passed it along once he saw his cousin's eyes start to narrow. Impatient, as always. He looked at the third letter, addressed to his aunt, and that he passed to her.

Petunia fed the last of the sausage to the bird as she said, "A joke? Not at all. Go upstairs, and pen your reply. You _are_ attending, Headmaster's thoughts on the issue aside. After that, we'll head out and get everything you need. We'll take Dudley, too. Better sooner than later, before Vernon gets off work. Off you go, darling, and let me worry about our feathered friend here. I think I might have some more sausage somewhere in the kitchen..."

Hadrian was already halfway up the stairs when the owl's indigent hoot echoed across the house, a mission already forming in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Owls were nocturnal creatures, so having one in the house, during the day, was an odd experience.

Hadrian watched as Dudley petted the bird, scratching the back of the owl's head, and jerking backward every time it fluffed. Hadrian trotted down the steps, a light smile on his face. Eleven years old. He was iffy about the entire 'school for magical children,' but he'd give it a shot. First, however, he needed to find a pen with _wet _ink in it. The ones he found upstairs were all dried up, thanks to Vernon forgetting to replace their caps. He huffed, and crossed behind the sofa to the kitchen, and climbed onto the counter to get the cabinets above. Sure enough, he found aunty's pen hidden above, and grinned. It was a more expensive instrument, but it was one she liked a lot. He liked it too, and he could see her eyeing him as he came out of the kitchen.

"You best put that back once you're done, young man." Hadrian grinned, ear-to-ear, and ducked under her reaching arm with a light laugh. Her own soft giggle followed him up the stairs, and he heard Dudley say, "It would be a shame if father found it. It's a nice pen."

Were did one buy supplies for a magical school, anyway? Hadrian entered his aunt, and Vernon's, room as the thought drifted through his head. It wasn't like they could go to the nearest supercenter and buy a book on potions or charms. It was a rather odd thought. He sat at the desk in the bedroom, and pulled out a page of clear, white paper. For a moment, Hadrian stared blankly at the paper. What was one supposed to write to a magical school that knew where you slept at night. Then his face twisted. That was rather unnerving, now that he thought about it. A school knowing where you sleep. It was like the creepers on TV who stalked people, and watched them sleep.

He shuddered. A perverted school?

_Ew_. Biting the back of the pen, Hadrian felt a curious sense of thought creep along. He needed to make certain his aunt and cousin could visit him, even if he _was _in school. It was only right, really. They all would be far more comfortable, that way. Maybe he needed to talk to a few people in this magical place and see what to do about the money. Vernon would never, knowingly, give money over for him to go to a magical school. He'd rather cane the three of the first, and then lock them in the basement. So no getting money from Vernon. That would be a highly unpleasant experience.

Hopefully this school has a fair number of fireplaces, though. Sitting in front of a hearth with a good book would be nice. Maybe a sandwich, too. As he set the pen to the paper, carefully forming his thoughts as he put them to paper, Hadrian felt a small smile spread across his face. At a magical school, there would be others like him. So maybe he would make some friends who he could be himself around. Be comfortable around. He could focus on having a few friends, learning, and being content knowing he was were he was supposed to be.

Headmaster Dumbledore aside.

As he finished writing his letter, Hadrian leaned back. There. That should work. For a moment, he reread the page, and as he went downstairs, he heard aunty say, "Read me what you wrote, Hadrian. Before we send this off, I want to make certain it is written properly. None of us wish to come off as rude, now do we?"

"No, aunty." Hadrian was pleasantly surprised when Dudley intoned the same two words, though his was 'mother' instead of 'aunty.' Flashing a grin at his cousin, Hadrian sat across from the two, cleared his voice, and read:

_"To whom this concerns._

_I wish to thank Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for accepting me into its student body, and to inform them [the staff and the school alike] that I shall be attending. We shall make our way to the magical world in due time, and speak to the officials on how to proceed. Until then, I wish to thank you for your invite, and and looking forward to starting school amongst children like myself._

_My Best Regards,_

_Hadrian Evans-Potter (please remove 'Potter' from my name - I prefer Evans)"_

Glancing up, Hadrian arched his brow. Aunty was quiet, head tilted to the side, and then she nodded. "It is acceptable. It is polite, and to the point."

Hadrian passed his letter to her, which she folded and placed in the proper envelope, and that she handed to the owl. It launched off the couch, and through an open window. During his gaze on his aunt, who was relaxing into the sofa, he finally said, "So how, exactly, are we going to do this without Vernon knowing what is going on?"

It was a good question, in his own mind. His uncle would never allow this, though with him already responding he _would _be attending, there's nothing he could do about it. Or so Hadrian hoped. As Petunia opened her mouth to reply, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway had them all pausing, and then Hadrian was up and out the backdoor. He was not going to be inside, not with Vernon being home. He heard the backdoor open and close, once again, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Dudley booking it. His own cousin looked a bit paler than usual, and, in his grasp, was two letters. School supplies and the message to Petunia, Hadrian was aware.

Darting into the woodland behind the houses, the cousins found a tree, and collapsed at the base. Leaning his head against the trunk of the tree, Hadrian grinned. Fingers combing through the grass around him, damp and a pleasant green, his eyes closed. He had eyes like the earth. Deep green and full of life. He liked that. He enjoyed working in the garden, too, and he could spy it several feet ahead, resting on the edge of the woodland. Out in the open.

"He's angry." Dudley suddenly said, and Hadrian glanced over at his large cousin. He wasn't fat, not like he had been when he was a small kid. He was all muscle, and tan from being out in the sun. Not as tan as Hadrian, but tan enough. If he wasn't watching TV, or working on some kind of gadget, he was out in the town looking at different devices or beating the snot of some unfortunate kid who made him angry. A bit of a temper problem, and unusually brash. As the two breathed out, tension easing, his cousin continued, "Came in, face all red and splotchy. Mum's calming him down."

"Should we go back?"

Dudley looked over at him once the question left Hadrian's mouth, and the younger glanced towards the house. Vernon wasn't nice when he was upset, and his aunt often got the brunt of it if Hadrian wasn't there himself. Women shouldn't have to go through that. As he stood, Dudley caught his shoulder, and pulled him down. His voice was soft as he asked, "If magic is real, and they have their own world, then they have their own laws, right?"

Hadrian glanced at his cousin. "I would think so, yes."

"Then placing a magical children with a man who hates said child, and is all but nice to his own child and wife, would have a different outcome than what the courts would do in _this _world, right?" Hadrian felt the 'lightbulb' in his brain light up, and his eyes widened. His head snapped from his cousin, to the house, and then back again. There would be a trail, of sorts, if this was brought to the police. In the magical world? Who _knew _what would happen! He felt a grin start to spread across his face as he said, "A new start, yeah?"

Dudley slowly nodded. "Yeah."

Hadrian winced, hearing glass breaking in the distance. He wasn't going to go, if his aunt and cousin had to stay behind with that man. He'd rather face the mean man when he was eight again, and see the dark shadows and the red, red floor. It would be uncomfortable, but he would rather be with his family than safe and sheltered, ignorant to their distress. Standing up, he offered his hand to his cousin, and met his gaze. Solemn against solemn.

"Then I think we both have a bit of planning to do, no?"

~O\o/O\o/O~

**Author Note**

For those who have favorited this story, or have it on 'alert,' thank you. Also, I enjoy everyone's reviews. It is quite a pleasure to go through them, and see what everyone has to say. For those who might worry I will take offense to something they may say - throw it at me anyway. Just remember, constructive criticism is a tool to help writers improve. I am no different, in this way. However, I hope most of you will keep your comments in English. Translating is not my strongest point, though for **_misterymassacre_**, thank you for your kind review (took me a bit to translate your message). I do like a kind Tuny, and hope everyone else will like her as well. I have quite a few ideas for this story, but I also depend on all of _you _to help me along. Leaving a review is one way to urge me forward, as it lets me know you are enjoying the story enough to _want _to leave a comment for me to come back to. I also like to have an even number of reviews for each chapter. I'm OCD about it.

While 'I like it' is nice, and it will give me a small push, at least tell me _what _you liked, okay? It gives me an idea on what I'm good at, and what I need to improve upon. So it's a learning experience for me, and just a generally, enjoyable reading liaison for the rest of you. Fair enough, no? I am also liking all the different thoughts on the 'Mystery Book.' There are quite a large number of ideas on how to use it, no? Suggestions are always nice, and so are thoughts for future events. As is, I shall leave this off here. I doubt anyone wants to read through a large AN, so I'll be short, bid you all a good day (or night), and hope the rest of your week goes well!


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